


The Elf as Old as the Moon

by MayhemCirheryn



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Backstory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:14:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5418410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayhemCirheryn/pseuds/MayhemCirheryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tamruzîr, a young boy from the Breelands who dreams of grand adventures like those in his father's stories, finds himself living a nightmare when their caravan is waylaid by Orcs. But his own adventure takes a turn with the arrival of a mysterious Elf with a tale to tell and a silver hammer on her belt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Elf as Old as the Moon

**2883, Third Age**

**A forest near the city of Tharbad on the borders of Hollin**

If he closed his eyes one more time, maybe it would all go away. Maybe he'd wake up back home safe in Archet. He squeezed his eyes tight, praying to all the powers he'd ever read about, but he couldn't fool himself and he knew it. He could still feel the heat of the fire and he could still hear the guttural, grunting voices. And the stench! No amount of wishing could make _that_ go away.

Tam opened his eyes. Blinking through dried tears and smoke he counted seven Orcs. Only seven? Orcs were cowards, everyone knew that. It was why caravans traveling the Greenway were so large. He was sure there had been at least twelve when the attack began, but it had all been so fast...still, if he was right, where were the rest of them?

The largest and ugliest of the Orcs—their leader, like as not—noticed him watching and lunged.

“What you looking at, _pushdug_?” came the acrid snarl in the boy's face. “You keep them eyes to yourself or I'll pops 'em out and suck 'em like eggs! _Sha_!”

This last came with a thick glob of spittle that smelled of the slaughterhouse and ale gone bad. He felt tears welling up again. Why, why had he begged Father to let him come? He _was_ too young. He ought to have stayed home with his books, laying in the meadows and reading about adventures rather than trying to have one himself! The hobbits had the right of it. Adventures made one late for dinner, _forever_. He closed his eyes against the tears and held his breath. If the Orcs heard him crying there was no telling what they'd do.

Tam was thinking very strongly of his mother and trying not to imagine her weeping when there was a sudden cacophony of shrieks and grunts and howls. Fighting amongst themselves over what to do with him, he thought. Orcs were always killing each other. Everyone knew that, too. He pressed his bound hands to his face, wishing he could cover his ears. Just as sudden as it had began, the clearing went quiet save for a high babbling whine. Tam thought some of it might have been words but he had never heard of an Orc begging before. And then someone did speak. The words were harsh and ugly on the ears but the voice was fair, like ice and the edge of a knife. There was a wet crunch and a gritty thud.

He heard no footsteps but he felt someone kneeling down in front of him and when a hand touched his arm he yelped and flinched away. The voice spoke again, but it was warmer now and smoother. Snow-melt rather than ice.

“ _Av-'osto. Odulen an dhen reithad. T_ _í_ _ro nin, Abrazanion_.”

Tam could hardly believe his own ears. Elvish! He'd read enough books to know that! He heard the command in those last words though he couldn't have guessed what they meant. He thought he recognized his father's name, standing out sharp among the flowing speech. Still cautious, he lowered his hands and opened his eyes to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in all his fourteen years.

Her pale golden hair was shorter than most women kept it, falling only just below her shoulders and a glow like distant starlight seemed to surround her face. Her clothing was dark, all black and deep grey and green, and her cloak was fastened at the left shoulder by a silver brooch in the shape of an eight-point star. The design tickled at something in Tam's memory, but he couldn't grasp it. The woman's eyes held him; clear blue-grey like the surface of a deep pool. They were kind but there was a sorrow rippling beneath them. Tam had never seen the sea, but he thought looking into those eyes that it must be quite the same. He could almost hear waves crashing.

“Give me your hands,” she said in the Common Tongue. “I will release you.”

Dumbfounded, he held out his bound wrists. The Elf woman drew a knife from her belt and made short work of the rough rope. He'd only been bound for a few hours but the Orcs had not been gentle and his wrists were raw and red. The Elf hissed and muttered a phrase in her own speech.

“Have you any other hurts?” she asked.

“My head,” Tam said. “They struck me in the fighting.”

She reached around to examine him and he cringed when her cool fingers found the swollen lump at the base of his skull.

“You've bled some, but the bone is unbroken. You will heal. Wait here and I will bring you something for the pain,” she said and stood. Her full height was incredible and Tam saw a bright silver hammer hanging from her belt beneath her cloak. She stepped briefly out of the clearing. It was only then that Tam noticed the seven dead Orcs.

The Elf returned and knelt by the fire, pulling a bowl and small pouches from the pack in her hands.

“Did you kill all those Orcs?” Tam asked and she looked at him with a steely gaze.

“Yes,” she said. “Come nearer the fire. The tea will not take long.”

Tam did as she asked and despite the terror of his capture he couldn't help the excitement he felt blooming in his chest. Rescued by a mysterious Elf woman! Who was now making him tea! He truly was on an adventure now.

“What is your name?” she said.

“I'm called Tam. It's short for Tamruzîr,” he said. “Do you know my father? I thought I heard you say his name before.”

“Your father lives, Tamruzîr,” the Elf said. “He was wounded, but he lives. I do not know him, but he is a friend to the Dúnedain and I am known to them. They sent for me to find you. Here, drink.”

She poured the tea into a wooden mug and handed it to him. A delicious, sunny smell rose from it and as soon as he sipped it he could feel the pain dulling.

“Thank you,” he said.

The Elf nodded. “You are welcome,” she said. “But we are not safe yet. It is some days walk back to Archet. We will rest here and continue in the morning.”

“Well...if we're to be together for a few days I should like to know who you are,” Tam said.

“I am called Celegauth, though I was not always. I have worn many names,” the Elf said and her voice was heavy with time.

“Like Turambar,” Tam said, almost absently. The Elf jerked her head up from her task and stared at him.

“How do you know of Túrin Turambar?” she asked. “But for the Dúnedain those tales are lost to Men.”

“My father told me,” Tam said. “I like the old stories. We don't have many books in Archet, but Bree has more. Most folk can't read but Mother insisted we all learn. Father brings me books from the South sometimes. I wish I could read all the books there are!”

“With a name like yours, I am not surprised,” Celegauth said, smiling. “I could tell you stories of Túrin that you would not find in any book from the South.”

Tam was puzzled only for a moment before it dawned on him what she had implied. He nearly dropped the hot tea into his lap.

“How old _are_ you?” he exclaimed.

She laughed and the sound put him in mind of bells and the first sun of spring. “Ai, it has been many long years since I spoke with one so young as you! All the world delights you, does it not, _pity_ _a-ny_ _á_ _rendil_? I am as old as the Moon.”

“But the Moon is ancient!” Tam said, aghast. “No one could be that old!”

Celegauth stared at him and the flicker of the fire danced across her face, leaping in her eyes and making her look for a moment far stranger and more dangerous than he had considered.

“I assure you, _Abrazanion,_ ” she said. “I am exactly as old. Would you like to hear the tale? It is long and full of great sadness but there is some joy in it also and I have not told it 'ere now.”

For all that he was young, Tam's love of the old stories had made him steadier and wiser than he knew. He looked at the Elf who was old as the Moon and met her gaze.

“Yes, my lady,” he said. “I would like to hear it.”

 

. _..Before I was born there was no time, not as you know it now. There was no Sun. There was no Moon. There were only the stars and Man was not yet awake. The world was dark for Morgoth had assailed Aman and slain the Trees and mighty Fëanor would not yield the Silmarils, which alone in all the world preserved the light that Had Been. My father was Teleri, a maker of ships. My mother is Noldor, and words are her craft. Neither had much love for Fëanor and both thought his Oath a foolishness, yet my mother longed for new lands and the words she could make there and out of love my father remained with her. Following the host of Fingolfin they went into exile, my mother bearing me in her womb across the Helcaraxë where so many perished. As they gained at last the shores of Middle-earth the Moon rose for the first time and with its rising I was born._

_Eärcalië I was named then by my father but my mother, seeing me awash in the new light of the Moon named me Isilwë and it was this name I took for myself when the time came. There was long friendship and love between my family and the House of Finarfin, of which Finrod was lord in our exile. We remained in his service, living for a time among the Falathrim along the coast where Finrod had built a great watchtower. The Falathrim were Teleri, my father's kin, and though we were welcome enough there was often bitterness in our dealings. Can you imagine how strange it is for a child to see such enmity between her two peoples and not know the cause? The terrible truth of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë was kept from me for many years. Even though none of the followers of Finrod had taken part, by virtue of our kind alone we were held to blame. The deeds of Fëanor and his sons had cast a shadow over us all._

_In time Finrod began building his great stronghold of Nargothrond and removed his people to it. I was grown to my full stature then, though not yet counted as a woman in my own right. I understand that Men consider them one and the same, but that is not so among the Eldar. Adulthood in the eyes of our people comes much later for us. Nargothrond was new then and needed adorning; nothing pleases us Noldor so much as the making of beautiful things. There were many willing to teach me and so I learned and honed my crafts. I have a steady hand and I gained great skill in those arts that require patience and a delicate touch. I bound and copied many books, drawing out the tales in inks as bright as jewels. You would have liked them, I think. Now this was during the Siege of Angband and near four centuries it lasted but still, they were dangerous times. Though besieged in his fortress, Morgoth threatened us sending Orcs and other perverse creatures to harry our realms. Even the women of Nargothrond were skilled in arms, though most of us hoped never to need it._

_I was one such who did. Or rather, I chose it. My father fell to an Orc raid and against the wishes of many, my mother included, I took up his place in the hidden guard. Finrod would not consent to let me march in his armies, but I was content to watch the borders and protect my home. My fellow guards called me Súlnoreth for how swiftly I can run and I was known by that name to all but my mother and closest friends. Eventually the siege was broken in the Dagor Bragollach. Many were lost and many left without homes. The doors of Nargothrond were opened to the displaced and my fate came with them._

 

...It was a moment before Tam realized the Elf had stopped her tale. The tea was gone, though he didn't remember finishing it, and so was the pain in his head.

“Enough talk for tonight, I think,” Celegauth said. “Your wounds are minor but still you need rest. We have a long ways to walk.”

“But—” Tam began to protest and Celegauth held up her hand.

“Hush, _pitya-nyárendil._ I will not abandon the tale at its beginning. Tomorrow.”

She pulled a sleeping roll from her pack and spread it on the ground for him. Tam crawled into it, reluctant to admit his weariness but feeling its pull nonetheless.

“Celegauth?” he said just before he closed his eyes. “What happened to them? To all the books and beautiful things you made?”

There was a long sigh before she answered. “Consumed by a dragon,” she said. “Or sunk beneath the great sea if not. Now sleep, Tamruzîr. Morning comes quickly.”

When Tam woke the next day the Orc bodies were gone and the fire was cold. Celegauth was awake--if she'd ever slept, he'd read that Elves didn't sometimes—and she handed him dried fruit and venison and a piece of the most delicious bread he'd ever tasted. He didn't know of course that she had treated him with athelas the night before or that she had given him lembas from the Golden Wood itself for his breakfast. All Tam knew was that he felt wonderful and that he was walking through the sunny autumn woods with an ancient Elf telling the story of her long life. To _him_ , of all people!

“Tell me, Tam,” she said as they walked. “What do you know of Fëanor?”

“Only a little,” Tam said. “I know he was a craftsman, the greatest craftsman is what Mother says. I know he made the most beautiful jewels that the Dark Lord stole from him and that was why all the Elves were fighting their great wars. And I read that sometimes they fought each other, but that doesn't seem right.”

“It is not right, but it is true,” Celegauth said. “Three times it happened. And all three times it was the sons of Fëanor putting their own people to the sword. They had all sworn an oath. A terrible oath that they would reclaim the Silmarils from any who held them, even from their own kin, by any means even if it meant war and death. It brought a doom upon all the Noldor and a curse upon the House of Fëanor and all that will follow them.”

 

_...The destruction of the Dagor Bragollach brought many to Nargothrond seeking shelter. Among them were Celegorm the Hunter and his brother Curufin the Crafty, and with them was Curufin's son who was known then as Telperinquar. It was a point of pride with Curufin to call his son by his Quenya father-name, and the sons of Fëanor were nothing if not prideful, Curufin especially. He was clever and skilled and we benefited much from his knowledge, but he was cruel also and hard, quick to anger at even an imagined slight. I was not fond of him, nor of his brother. But his son was not the same. He came often to the forges and the workshops and he would watch us in our work. For a long time he did little but listen and watch and slowly he began to petition the masters for tutelage. He was not unskilled even then but he had a great curiosity and there was a humility about him that was so unlike his father. He came to me while I was etching my designs onto a new blade and he said to me how fair they were and how did I manage such intricate work on so unyielding a canvas as metal. So our friendship began in our craft and soon we were devising new and greater works together. We would walk in the gardens and sit side by side at feasts and work from sunset to sunrise by the light of the lamps._

_One morning when I came to meet him I could see he was not himself. He was often ill-tempered after arguing with his father, but when I greeted him his anger was burdened with sadness._

_'You must not call me by that name,' he said. 'That name is his and I will have no more of it. I would have you call me Curumanon, as my mother named me.'_

_'She named you well,' I told him. 'Your skill is your own and you have surpassed him, for you are kind where he is not and that makes you the greater.'_

_And then he did what I had not yet even dreamed, he took me in his arms and kissed me, there in the forges for any to see. He had carried his love in silence for years, but I had not known until that moment how well I loved him in return. I wished to be wed but he was not so eager, fearing the curse on his father's house would pass to me if we were joined. If that was to be, I told him, then it was to be and I would take it on myself willingly for I was doomed to love him and Mandos himself could not have changed that._

_I expected his father to object but he was pleased by the match. His bride gift to me was unlike any jewel I had seen and it had come from the Blessed Realm. How I wish it was not lost now! It was on that day he gave to his son this brooch that I wear. The emblem of their house, forged by his own father in happier days if indeed any of Fëanor's days were happy. It was the last time my husband and his father shared kindly words with each other, for not long after we were wed Finrod went forth to his death beside Beren Erchamion in the quest for the Silmaril, and the deeds of Curufin and his brother after that are counted among the greatest shames of the Age. Or of all Ages. Celegorm sought to force Lúthien into marriage, a thing unthinkable to us, and with Curufin's help he brought her as a captive to Nargothrond. Both brothers sought to wrest control of the realm away from Orodreth, our lord's nephew, but when these schemes failed they were exiled. My husband would have been sent into the wild with them had he not stood before Orodreth and all the people of Nargothrond and repudiated his father. It was a terrible day. He wept after and was grim for many months. The histories do not remember that when they speak of him._

 

...There was silence and Tam saw Celegauth was staring away into the trees. The omission of her husband's grief from the histories upset her, he realized. A little tentative but still feeling it was the right instinct, he reached out and touched her arm. She blinked and frowned down at him.

“Well, you remember it,” he said. “And now so will I.”

For a moment he wasn't sure how she was going to react; her eyes were so strange. But then she clasped his shoulder, giving him a slight nod and Tam knew she was grateful.

“Did you meet Lúthien, then?” he asked, unable to help himself. He had a small bound copy of the _Lay of Leithian_ and it was the pride of his own little library. “Was she really as beautiful as the stories say?”

“More so, even,” Celegauth said. “I have seen only one since who can compare. I did not know her as a friend, but we spoke a time or two while she was held. She was angry and I could not fault her for that. Still, for all her anger she never suggested that my husband was complicit in the actions of his kin, unlike some. I would have thanked her for it after, if I could.”

Tam could feel the width of his eyes and the Elf woman smiled a little at his expression. He hadn't known her long at all, but Tam was sure she could do with a little more smiling, and his listening seemed to please her.

“Túrin came to us not long after,” she went on. “And I promise you, I have many untold stories concerning him. He was my captain for a time and soldiers can be...mischievous when left to our own devices. Despite what befell him, even he laughed at times. Around Finduilas especially he was quite mirthful. But those are for another time.”

 

. _..All you need know now of Túrin is that it was at his urging we built the bridge across the river Narog and at his urging we rode to open war against Morgoth and it was this that led to our downfall. I did not march out with the host to Tumhalad. I was one of those who remained behind in the defense should the battle go ill. And it went worse than ill, for Glaurung the dragon led the evil host and our forces were utterly destroyed. You have never seen a dragon and by the grace of the Valar you never shall. He came crawling across the bridge, a huge, hulking beast stinking of brimstone and blood with Orcs teeming about his feet. Many of our people had gone by then, making for the Havens at Sirion, my mother among them. My husband had gone as well, at my urging, to see my mother to safety. I begged Finduilas to flee with them, but she refused. For all that she did not fight, she was strong-willed and always had been. When Glaurung came, we all were taken captive and led towards Angband, but the Orcs were waylaid by the Haladin and in the fighting they slew their captives rather than relinquish us. Except for me. I was wounded grievously but I did not die and the people of Haleth took me in and tended me until I was well._

_When I recovered I went to the Havens and though I found my mother there, Curumanon was not. They had been separated during their flight when he and some others remained behind to defend them against pursuing Orcs. I did not know whether my husband lived and I did not find out for many years. During that time the Second Kinslaying took place and with those fleeing from Doriath came the news that Curufin was dead, cut down by Dior Eluchil. They brought also a Silmaril, worn by Elwing, Dior's daughter. Gondolin fell not long after and its survivors came to us also. I had resumed my place as a guard and I was on watch the day they came. Against all hope, I saw my husband walking among them and I cannot describe to you my joy in that moment. It is true that time feels different to us, but still fifteen years is a long time to spend not knowing whether the one you love is even alive._

_It seemed by then that Morgoth's victory was assured, unless the Valar would come to our aid. We had no other hope, and so Eärendil undertook his voyage to the West to plead for all the Children of Iluvatar. While he sailed the remaining sons of Fëanor came down upon us in desperate pursuit of the Silmaril. We stood against them as long as we could, but we were few and most of us not prepared for battle. My husband fought with us and slew Amrod, his own uncle. I was defeated by Maglor in the end, but he was of a disposition more like my husband and found that for all his evil deeds he had not the heart to slay his nephew's wife. Of all the sons of Fëanor he lamented their Oath and their deeds the most. He held us as captives in name only, along with Elwing's children, twin boys called Elrond and Elros. I became quite fond of them. I am fond of one still, and of the memory of the other._

_All Beleriand was overrun then and Morgoth would have had dominion over all Middle-earth, but the Valar came. They came themselves in all their glory and they came with great armies of the Vanyar, who had grown mighty indeed during their long years in the Blessed Realm unstained by grief. It was well named the War of Wrath, for in it all of Beleriand, all those lands where we had labored and fought and so many had perished, was lost beneath the waves of the Western sea._

 

 _...“_ So ended the First Age of this world,” Tam said into the silence.

“Yes,” Celegauth said. “And so ends our travel for today. We have come far and rest will be welcome.”

“I thought Elves never tired,” Tam said and Celegauth arched a brow at him.

“It is true I could endure for many more leagues yet, and running too,” she said. “But young sons of Men cannot. Besides, Gil-Estel will be rising soon and it is a comfort to look on after speaking of such long ago things.”

Tam gave a hand in setting their camp for the night, gathering wood and building up the fire while the Elf went to hunt. He should have felt nervous being left alone after what had happened the day before, but his head was too full of her story to take much notice. He should have recognized the brooch she wore straightaway. How many times had he seen the symbol drawn in that old book of his father's? He'd been too shocked by the situation to put the pieces together at first but the picture was forming now. If he was remembering his histories right, and he was certain he was, the next part of her story was going to be hard for her to tell.

She returned soon with a pair of rabbits and while she worked cleaning and cooking them she asked him about his own life. His stories about the goings on of Archet and Bree sounded trivial compared to her incredible tales but Celegauth's attention seemed genuine. It was possible, he thought, that she was trying to distract herself from her own telling for a while and he didn't mind. When he began to talk about his parents, she looked thoughtful and broke her silence.

“Your father and mother seem more learned than their fellows,” she said. “Why is that?”  
Tam shrugged. “I'm not certain,” he said. “They were raised in that way, too, I suppose.”

“Your father is a friend to the Dúnedain, and few are friendly to them in the Bree-lands,” she said. “It may be there is more to it than that. But that is your father's tale to tell. My own is far from over.”

 

_...After the War of Wrath, it seemed almost that the world was made anew. Morgoth was gone and we could begin the work so many of my people had left the Blessed Realm to undertake. My mother chose to accept the grace of the Valar and returned home to Aman, but my husband and I chose to stay. I felt the call of the Sea even then, but I have known no other home than this. We dwelt in Lindon, the kingdom of Gil-galad, for a long while until we heard of a city being built in the unknown lands east of the Ered Luin. We were eager to go. It was under the rule of Galadriel, my husband's kinswoman. The city was named Ost-in-Edhil and its realm was Eregion, which Men now call Hollin. We were very near it when I found you. Being a kingdom primarily of the Noldor it was brimming with artisans, and as time passed we made ourselves into guilds. The Gwaith-i-Mirdain, the jewel smiths, were the most numerous and the most renowned, and my husband was their chief craftsman. They are the only now remembered, but there were many. There were the Maeryn, those were the storytellers and poets. The Megildain, the sword-smiths and makers of arms. I myself was counted among the Teithyr those who drew, painted, and sketched. We made fast friendship and trade with the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm—Moria, as it is called now—and with the Men of Númenor and all prospered from it. Those were peaceful times, and we were happy. Our only misfortune was that despite all our hope and willingness my husband and I were childless. It is hard even now not to blame myself, for some among us believe that dealing death in battle saps an elleth's strength to bring forth life, and I had dealt much in the defense of Nargothrond. Yet perhaps in the end it was a blessing._

_A being calling himself Annatar came to us. He appeared as one of our own but he was a Maia, an emissary of the Valar come to aid us, he said. He was fair of speech and wise in craft, eager to share his knowledge. And we were eager to have it, my husband especially so. Save for Maglor, who wanders in grief Eru alone knows where, Curumanon was the last of the line of Fëanor and the mantle of it was heavy on him. His family had brought much evil and suffering to Middle-earth, and as the last of that doomed house he felt it his duty to right what wrongs he could. A world of peace, free of darkness and fire, that was his dream and he spoke of it often. Annatar promised us that with his help and guidance we could accomplish it. But the Lord and Lady of the city were not so willing and bitterness grew between them and the Gwaith-i-Mirdain until eventually they departed for Lórien across the Hithaeglir. Lordship of the city, and of all Eregion, passed to my husband. But your histories know him by another name than ever I called him._

 

...“Celebrimbor,” Tam said and Celegauth nodded. She was staring into the fire, her face unreadable and one thumb was tracing the edges of her cloak brooch, though she seemed unaware of the motion.

“I know this part of the history,” Tam said. “I know what happens. You don't need to tell it if you'd rather not.”

She smiled a little and shook her head. “You have a kind heart, _pitya-nyárendil,_ ” she said. “But this tale needs telling, for there are so few now who know the truth of it. Still...it will not be easy.”

 

_...Under my husband's lordship Annatar was fully welcome among us and our skill reached heights not seen since the days before the First Age. Curumanon surpassed all the smiths of this world, save for his own grandfather. It was then that Annatar began to instruct us in the making of Rings. We made many, some more powerful and some less so. Some were mere trinkets made for practice. You would call them “magic”, I suppose, though that word means little to me. When we had mastered the art we began the making of the Rings of Power. Each was imbued with the will of my husband's dream, which was a dream shared by us all. We forged into them the power to inspire greatness and preserve what is good, so that wherever there was strife it could be assuaged. Annatar aided us in their making, for their creation took a great deal from the one who forged it and he wished to lend his strength to our own so that the result would be all the greater._

_Annatar left us for a time once the Great Rings were complete and as was his way, my husband began to invent methods of his own. Unlike me, he was born in the Blessed Realm and remembered its splendor. If even some echo of it could be brought to dwell in Middle-earth he would see it done. He spoke of this ambition to none but me and I was uncertain of it. They would have to be mighty rings indeed to be capable of the power he envisioned, and I was fearful of what such a making would require of him. Smithcraft was a joy to him and he could have no more kept himself from it than he could have kept himself from drawing breath, and yet it posed a danger for him as well. He feared that with his grandfather's skill had come his obsession and his greedy love for the works of his hands. Long before, when we were newly wed, he had begged me to swear to him that if ever I saw him falling prey to it I would intervene. Even if it meant destroying what he had wrought and that is no small thing for one of our kind to ask. His fear was that great._

_As the years passed his work began to consume him. More and more the governance of Eregion fell to me and I began to wonder whether I would be forced to act on my oath. I did all I could to forestall it. I do not know how many times I spoke to him, entreating him to see reason and set the work aside for a time if not abandon it altogether. Always he refused. He hardly left his workshop and when he did he said nothing to anyone. The day came where I went to him at his forge and invoked the oath I had made, begging him to come away but he would not. We argued then and harsh words were said by the both of us. I called him by the name he so hated and declared his father would be proud of him. He stormed out in a terrible rage and I was left alone, looking down on what he had made. There were three of them and that struck me as ill-omened, for Fëanor's greatest works had numbered three as well. Had he chosen their number or had their number chosen him? Two were gold, one was mithril and no stones had been set in them yet. I could have destroyed them then. I had all the tools to hand and the forge was hot. But something in me stayed my hand and I could do nothing but kneel in the ashes and weep._

_When my husband returned he was changed. Mention of his father had been enough to halt his obsession it seemed and while he continued his work he was more himself. When I saw his three rings completed I was glad I had not destroyed them. They were truly beautiful and it seemed that with their power to lead all the others we could achieve the peace that we sought. But that was not to be._

_We were deceived, for Annatar was none other than Sauron who of old had been Morgoth's lieutenant and the making of the Rings had been nothing but a trap to ensnare and control us. Yet when Sauron put on his One Ring and proclaimed himself lord of them we knew his mind for all those which he had aided us in making were connected. All but the Three of my husband's making. They alone were unsullied but through those sixteen of us bearing the others Sauron knew of them. Among the Elves of the city only a few were aware of the Three and though some counseled otherwise my husband knew they must be hidden away. We feared Sauron would discover that we knew of his deception and so we hid them slowly. The others we hid as well, though corrupted as they were it was more difficult to bear one and resist its use._

_Sauron came for us. Once again I saw my home fall to flame and ruin before my eyes. The Sack of Eregion was long and desperate. When we knew the city was lost my husband told me to go with the retreating forces, to run. I refused._

_'Once you begged me to go and I went,' he said to me. 'Now I am begging you. Whatever fate befalls me here, I cannot withstand it unless I know that you are safe. If I am to fall then I will fall, and I will wait for you in the Halls of Mandos.'_

_I felt a shadow come over me at his words and I think then he knew as well as I what was to come._

_I went with Elrond. If any other than my husband could have convinced me to flee, it was him. I regard him almost as a son. I fled with him and the remnants of our people. My husband stood alone against Sauron himself at the Gates of the Mirdain and long was their battle, but in the end he fell. He was taken. Sauron took him and he tortured him and when he would not give up the Three...Sauron killed him._

_I knew that my husband had been taken when I rode back to Eregion with the forces that had come from Lindon. Sauron had sent a messenger bearing this brooch, and I had slain the Orc who brought it. I have seen a great deal of battle. Even then, long ago as it was, I knew well the horror of war. Yet for all that, when I saw the evil host approaching with my husband's body held before it as a banner..._

 

...The Elf woman's entire countenance had become increasingly dark the more she spoke. A cold and terrible flame came into her eyes and a hard glow seemed to fill her, a gleam like moonlight in the depths of a hungry winter. As quickly as it came it passed by and Tam saw tears glinting on her cheeks. An unsteady breath that was almost a cry rushed out of her and suddenly she was no longer the Ancient and Noble Elf who had saved him. She was a person deep in grief and it was like watching his mother cry. He couldn't sit by and do nothing! He inched over beside her and took her hand. He didn't say anything and she didn't openly weep, he just sat and held onto her hand.

After a time she came back to herself and released him. She didn't acknowledge what had happened, except for the smallest tightening of her hand around his before she let go.

“I am sorry,” she said. “But I have no more to tell of that battle. I have no memory of it. From that moment to seeing a swallow dip before my eyes looking out over a pool in Imladris there is nothing in my mind.”

“That must be difficult,” Tam said.

“It is...strange,” Celegauth said. “But even if it were offered to me to have it back, I do not know that I would want it. What little I do have is more than enough.”

She was quiet for a time and Tam could see then just how very old she was and what that meant. It had been thousands of years since the Elves of Hollin had been driven away. Her mother was gone, her husband was long dead, she had no children. Why did she stay? The Elves were always sailing off into the West, so the stories said, so why hadn't she? He wondered, but it seemed the sort of question he ought not ask. She did not resume the story that night and he didn't press her.

The morning dawned grey and cool and rain was soon spitting from the sky. Tam was desperately cold and he tried not to show it but Celegauth insisted he take her cloak. On him it hung nearly to his ankles. His eye was drawn again to the hammer on her belt. It was far too small and light to be a war hammer. It more resembled those he often saw at the blacksmith's and he could see a fine line of flowing script etched along the curve of its head.

“Yes,” she said when she saw where he was looking. “It was his. I went once to the ruin of our home to see what was left and what might be saved. It seemed right that I should keep it, though it strikes far softer things than metal now.”

Tam's mind went back to the night of his capture and the wet crunching sound he had heard. This was the answer to his question of the night before, he realized. And something else as well.

“You're it,” he said with a dawning excited fear.

The Elf arched a brow at him. “Am I now?” she said. “What is it that I am?”

“You're the Ghost of Hollin!”

The stories were older than anyone could remember, trotted out on stormy autumn evenings when the fire was burning low. All of them were good for a shiver but some, the ones only the hunters and caravan drivers told, were enough to freeze the blood in your veins. Tales of screaming apparitions, clearings where Orc bodies hung from every tree, human outlaws strangling to death at their own fires.

Celegauth laughed. “Now that is a fine name, indeed. But I suppose if that is what Men call me, that is what I must be. My own people named me not so differently. Are you frightened?”

“No,” Tam said, and a little to his own surprise he wasn't. “Some of the stories never seemed like they could be true. Why would a ghost who kills Orcs punish disobedient children by trapping them in wells or stealing their eyes?”

“You tell such tales? For amusement?” Celegauth asked. She looked horrified.

“Oh, yes,” Tam said. “Parents tell them, mostly. 'Mind your elders and never shirk your chores, or the Ghost of Hollin will come and take you away'. When you grow up you realize it isn't true.”

“I have lived a long time and known many Men,” Celegauth said. “Yet still at times you bewilder me. I have no interest in whether a child in Bree-land completes his chores.”

“But you do go after Orcs and outlaws, don't you?” Tam said and her mood became somber again.

“I do,” she said. “I will finish my tale. Perhaps then you will have your answer.”

 

_...Eregion was destroyed. I remained in Imladris with those others who had survived and together we built it into a safe haven. Time passed and I returned to my crafts but there was little joy in it. I occupied myself instead as a guard and in carrying messages from Elrond to Gil-galad in Lindon. Númenor was drowned and the world was changed. When the Last Alliance marched against Sauron I was glad to march out with them. We fought him upon the Dagorlad and for seven years we besieged him in his foul tower of Barad-dur. At the last, Isildur cut the the One Ring from Sauron's hand, and he was dispelled. He was so corrupt and such a great part of his power was bound into his Ring that without it he could not even take on physical form. There were few of us left by then who had been Ringmakers, but we felt that blow within ourselves and we rejoiced._

_I did not return to Imladris. With the shadow of Sauron lifted, I felt a desire to see the far lands where Elves had not trod since the days of our awakening long ago on the shores of lost Cuivienin. I wandered far. Very far. I have walked the dunes of Far Harad. I have seen the Eastern oceans and Southern forests so hot and thick with leaves that no sunlight reaches the ground. I wandered the shores of the world, searching for Maglor, the last of my husband's kin who it is said lingers near the Sea, singing laments for the woes of the Elves and Men. I did not find him. Even so far as I was, rumor reached me of darkness returning to the West. I followed the movements of evil creatures, Orcs and worse, harrying them when I could. I found all Eriador overrun then, for Angmar was at its height and the Witch-king was powerful. After the Battle of Fornost I returned to my wandering and came to rest for a time in Lothlórien. I was weary, and I thought perhaps at last it was time for me to take the ship. But the Lady of the Wood counseled patience and it was well she did._

_Word came to me that the Dwarves were mustering for war in Khazad-dûm once again. You may have heard that Elves and Dwarves are unfriendly to each other, and that is true. There is a bitter history there. But we Noldor understand them where others of our kind do not, and there was great friendship between Durin's folk and Ost-in-Edhil in the days of our might. When Sauron closed in around us, the Dwarves of Moria came to our aid and I could not forget it. I entered Khazad-dûm, for my husband drew the enchantment upon the Western door and I know its secrets. The Dwarves were slow to trust me but I knew much of their lore and lineage, and when I named the Ring that Thrain then wore as that same my husband had gifted to them they were convinced. I pledged myself to their cause. That was not so many years ago now and though the Dwarves' war with the Orcs has come to its end, the foul creatures trouble these lands still. A Shadow is rising once more._

 

… “I was born on the shores of Middle-earth at the first rising of the Moon. Only when the last of the Dark Powers is driven from it can I depart.”

The crunching of leaves under his feet was louder in the silence after her words. What must it be like, to be so old and carry so much memory? She had been right, her story was full of far more sorrow than it was joy. And yet for all the grief in it he found he felt stronger somehow, like a little flame had been lit in his heart.

“Well, Tamruzîr son of Abrazan, you have heard the long lay of my life through near three ages of this world. How do you find it?”

He stopped. “Do you really think a Shadow is rising again?” he asked.

The Elf whose life he now knew looked back at him, the sea-like eyes that had so stunned him at first sad and hardened.

“I am not like the mothers and fathers of your village,” she said. “I do not tell you tales to hurry you to your chores. I have walked these lands for many lifetimes of Men and I am certain.”

“Is it Sauron?” Tam said.

“Of that I am not so certain,” Celegauth said. “The Wise alone can say. But I am a Ringmaker and a Ring-bearer, in my own way, and the power that bound us then binds us still. I believe it is him.”

Tam nodded and took a deep breath. “Then I find your story hopeful,” he said. “So much has happened and so much of it terrible, but the darkness hasn't taken us yet. We will withstand it one more time, and we will be here still when it falls.”

Tam had no way of knowing it, but his speech had shifted from the rough Westron of the Bree-lands to as it had been spoken in Númenor, and as the Dúnedain spoke it still. But Celegauth heard it and she smiled.

“That is well, _pitya-nyárendil,”_ she said. “Though it may not be in your life that the Shadow rises to strength again.”

“Still,” Tam said and continued walking. “We must keep it at bay and stand against it wherever we see its work. That's what all the tales I've ever read have taught me. Can I ask you something?”

“You may.”

“What is that you keep calling me?” Tam asked. “Pitya naren...I can't seem to say it right. Is it Elvish? What does it mean?”

“ _Pitya-nyárendil,_ ” Celegauth said and she smiled at him. “It is Quenya, the ancient tongue seldom spoken now even by Elves. It means...'little lover of stories', or near enough in your speech.”

“Oh. That fits me rather well, I suppose,” Tam said. He didn't say anything, but he was beginning to recognize the land as they walked. They would come upon Archet soon and his grand adventure would be over.

“Not quite,” Celegauth said. “You are not so little, I think.”

They had come to the edge of the bluff in the South Woods that overlooked the town. The day was hedging towards twilight and Tam could see candles being lit in the windows below. He unclasped the cloak and handed it back to the Elf.

“Thank you, Celegauth,” he said. “For saving my life and for the story of yours.”

She turned to him and it was as though a veil had dropped away from her. Her eyes gleamed again with a cold and ancient light and the fading day seemed to crown her in fiery gold. Whether he imagined it or had been given a vision he couldn't say, but he saw her for a moment as she must have been before; the Lady of Eregion clad in blue and silver with bright gems bound upon her brow.

“To you, Tamruzîr, son of the Dúnedain for so you are, I am Aercalien Ithildis, called also Súlnoreth and Isilwë in days long past,” she said and cupping his face in her hands she leaned down to kiss the crown of his head. “To the Elves you will be known as Nyarendil and I name you Elf-friend.”

It was the sort of thing Tam used to daydream about. If the same had happened only two days before he would have been giddy with it, but now he found he felt a much more solemn joy and he knew what was never mentioned in the tales: there was a responsibility in being named an Elf-friend. A charge had been laid on him.

He looked down at Archet, where his father and mother and sisters were all waiting, probably gathered around the table by now. Celegauth—Aercalien, he supposed he should think of her now—had said he was one of the Dúnedain and perhaps he was; his father would know.

“No one in town is going to believe this,” Tam said. “Will you stay with us tonight? My mother would be very disappointed in me if I didn't offer.”  
She hesitated for a moment, looking back into the darkness of the trees. Tam was sure she was about to refuse when she turned back to him.

“I have brought you this far,” she said. “It would only be right to see you safe back to your family.”

The Elf smiled and together they walked down the hill into Archet. Few were out and about to see the young man stride into town with a tall and terrible Elf walking at his side, but by the following morning the whole village was buzzing with the rumor.

Aercalien was gone by then, of course, slipping out before the first hint of dawn and fading back into her woods. She went on patrolling the forests of Hollin, making short work of Orcs and any other wicked creatures that dared travel there, but from that day on those Dúnedain who knew her began to remark that Celegauth had changed. She was a swift shadow still, but her countenance was brighter and she went more often to Imladris where she had friends who welcomed her.

In the months following his adventure with the Elf, Tamruzîr began to understand just how much it had changed him. He had always been quiet and studious but he became even more so, delving into whatever tome of lore he could, and to his surprise he found himself spending more time among the hobbits with their gardens and their simple ways. In time he approached his father with what Aercalien had suspected and his father confirmed it; they were of the Dúnedain, descended from the Loremasters of Númenor. Some years later, when the sun was fading into the West and the Star of Hope was rising, Aercalien returned. She had come with an offer to bring Tam to Rivendell for a time to study the lore there, an offer which he and his family glady accepted. He remained there for five years and during that time he began in secret what would become his greatest work.

He had left home barely out of boyhood and he returned as a man. He would never be big but he was quick and clever and living with the Elves had granted him a sense of stature and strength that was far more than physical. He no longer had to beg his father to be brought along on the trading caravans to Dale, he was invited and welcomed. On one such trip, he returned home with a wife and within a year he was a father himself.

The life of Tamruzîr Nyarendil was a good and a long one, full of griefs and joys as any man's is. He became known throughout the Breelands as a wise and honest man, and was elected mayor of Archet six times for it. His four children, two sons and two daughters, grew to be fair and kind, reared on the ancient tales as he had been. Yet for all his good standing, as the years rolled by, it was whispered in the taverns—The Prancing Pony in particular—that it was an uncommon good fortune that followed Old Man Tam and his lot; and they were such a queer family, didn't you know, having Rangers in for dinner and the like! And there were other tales, tales of a swift shadow that appeared once in a decade or so, sweeping up the high street of Archet with the dusk toward the house of Old Man Tam.

As night was falling one spring evening in 2973 of the Third Age, there came a knock at the door of the house near the center of town. A comfortable fire was burning in the parlor hearth against the chill of the evening air and a young woman was seated before it. She counted perhaps fifteen years at the most, hovering like the first flower of an early spring in that curious place where girlhood has ended and womanhood has yet to unfurl its strength. She sat curled cat-like in the chair, legs tucked beneath her skirts; waiting, though not of her own choice. When the knocking came, it was a shock. She hurried to open the door and couldn't help her quick gasp of mingled fear and awe at the dark and looming hooded figure on the front step.

“ _Mae govannen, Nyarendiliel_ ,” the figure said in a low, cool voice, lifting the hood away from her face. She smiled softly. “You have your grandfather's eyes. May I enter?”

The girl stepped aside to let the Elf pass. “He said you would come,” she murmured, and her voice was hoarse from weeping. “I didn't...”

“You doubted,” the Elf said and when tears came to the girl's eyes she reached out and touched her cheek, almost as in benediction. “Set your heart at rest. There is no wrongdoing in that.”

“He has so many tales,” the girl said. “I thought you were just one more.”

The Elf smiled.“So do many, I imagine. What is your name?”

“Calaerwen,” the girl answered and the Elf's grey-blue eyes became piercing, like rain that of a sudden turns to ice. But for all the intensity of her gaze, there was no cruelty in it; there was only a sorrow and a fondness.

“That is a fair name,” she said.

“Is it? Most folk think it so odd,” Calaerwen said. “All our family are named in the Southern fashion. Except Grandfather.”

“Ah, that is not so,” the Elf said and looked to the staircase behind them. “Will you walk up with me, Calaerwen?”

The young woman nodded and without a word led the Elf up the stairs and into her grandfather's room.

The door opened to a large room that had clearly become more study than bedchamber over the years. It was filled with people, some bent with age and some hardly more than babes and the air was heavy with waiting. A stunned silence fell over the room when the Elf entered. The grey-haired woman sitting on the bed rose and they embraced.

“ _Le suilon, Merileth_ ,” the Elf said.

“ _I mâr nîn i mâr dhîn, Aercalien_ ,” the woman answered and stepped aside.

The Elf approached the bed and sat on its edge, clasping the gnarled hand of the old man who lay there. His hair, now white, had been a steely grey when last she saw him and the lines in his face were deeper now, less ragged, but when he opened his eyes they still glittered with wit and wonder.

“Ah, Isilwë,” he said in a voice that wavered only a little. “You came.”

“I could be nowhere else, my friend,” Aercalien said. “You have been blessed with another granddaughter since last we met. Was it you who named her?”

Tam nodded. “Oh, yes,” he said, turning to smile at young Calaerwen who stood beside her mother, holding tightly to her hand. “At her birth the foresight came to me that she would be the last of my grandchildren, and so she is. Calaerwen, my dear, how do you find your namesake? I was not so much younger than you when we met.”

The girl's eyes grew wide in amazement and releasing her mother's hand she stepped forward.

“You named me for her? For the Elf from your stories?” she said.

“There is no greater name I could have given you,” Tam said. “If not for her, you would not be. And much else would not be, as well.”

Aercalien shook her head with a gentle smile, “You make much more of me than is deserved, Nyarendil. I am not so mighty and wise as that, though it is a fine tale to hear you tell it.”

The old man's eyes crinkled. “I thought you would say something like that,” he said and then turned to his granddaughter. “Bring me the book, dear. The one on my desk.”

Calaerwen slipped between the silent watchers, her aunts, uncles, and cousins, and returned with a book bound in deep blue leather. It was not a large book, but it was thick and quite heavy. Tam nodded towards the Elf and the girl handed it over. The cover was embossed with a crescent moon and a star not unlike the one that formed the Elf's cloak pin, both inlaid with silver lief. Aercalien opened the front cover and a sigh escaped her lips. She bowed her head, her eyes closed for a moment, lost in memory. In Tam's bold penmanship it read:

 

_Quenta Isilránion_

“Tam, what is this?” she said.

“It is your life, Isilwë, and much more,” Tam said, taking hold of her hand atop the cover. “It is a history as you saw it unfold. I have labored on it since I was a boy, with the aid of many who call you friend. Though, alas, my time in writing it has come now to its end.”

Taking the book in his unsteady hands, he passed it to Calaerwen. “You have scribed many of its pages for me in these last years,” he said. “It is my wish that you continue it on your own.”

The young woman took the book and held it to her chest. Her cheeks were wet with tears but she held her grandfather's gaze and when she spoke her voice was unwavering.

“I will, Grandfather. I promise,” she said and the old man smiled, sinking back into his pillows.

“Good, good,” he said and drew a shuddering breath. “Ah, I am weary. But there is fear, also.”

Aercalien stood and threw back her dark cloak and it seemed to those watching that she changed. It seemed to them that she grew taller and a cool, silvery light shone from her, a distant and desperate starlight. She was both terrible and beautiful. She leaned over the old man, stroking his worn face with her pale hands she kissed his brow.

“ _Av-'osto Nyarendil_ ,” she said. “I cannot save you from this gift, nor would I. _Savo hîdh nen gurth mellon nîn.”_

She stepped away. The old man's eyes were closed and his breath was slowing, but his mouth was curved in a gentle smile. As his children and grandchildren moved to surround him, the Elf, standing at the foot of the bed, began to sing. Her voice was low, almost thrumming, and though it was heavy with grief and few there could understand the words they felt their hearts eased by the song. It was hope shadowed by sorrow, as all Elven songs are, and Calaerwen, her young heart pounding against the tome that was now her charge, turned her head to look. The Elf stood tall and straight as a tree, arms at her sides, sea-blue eyes gazing ahead. Tears glistened on her cheeks, but her voice never wavered. It continued into the silence, strong and clear and sad, and in that moment it pierced Calaerwen through to her very soul with all the weight of time. Her grandfather's stories in all their wonder and terror, joy and mourning breathed into life and took root in her. Saying nothing to anyone, she moved to stand beside the Elf and, not knowing she followed in the footsteps of a fourteen year-old boy long ago, took hold of her hand and held it in silence until the song was done.

**Author's Note:**

> If this story doesn't seem finished, that's because it isn't. It was written as the long form backstory for a character that I play in an Epic Pathfinder campaign amongst several friends, and though I know some of the over all arc we have planned for the game, this character's story is still in progress. What you have read here ends only forty years before that adventure begins.
> 
> Historical Notes: I have loved the Noldor, and the Feanorians in particular, since I first read The Silmarillion at the age of thirteen. The Histories make no mention of any of the Sons of Feanor having wives or children, except for Curufin, but given that Elves typically married around age 50 in times of peace it is my assumption that most--if not all--of them would have left wives and possibly families behind in Valinor. Since marriage was considered a natural progression, it stands to reason that Celebrimbor would have married as well. 
> 
> The High Elven naming structure features prominently in this story. A concise explanation of those traditions can be found here: http://www.realelvish.net/valinornaming.php


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